


Lost and Found

by sleepiestbee



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Everyone Is Gay, F/F, Using all types of Witcher lore, Yenn is gay, i just love The Continent ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22564066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepiestbee/pseuds/sleepiestbee
Summary: Yennefer is searching for Tissaia, or rather, hoping to be looked for. She misses her mentor and long-lost companion deeply but fears Aretuza and its memories. She joins up with a party of merchants, traveling from a Northern settlement to Cintra for trade. In Cintra, she hopes to stir up enough of a fuss to grab Tissaia's attention.
Relationships: Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 48
Kudos: 152





	1. Voyager

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is my first fic, ever haha. I hope you like it. It's going to be an incredibly slow burn, but very very gay. Enjoy <3

On nights like these, when the moon was waning and the air was biting, they sat around the fire. They told stories of traveling, sailing, wolves, monsters, women, and family. Of deals, and memories, and of kings long gone. Sang familiar songs, popular bardic ballads, and trader shanties. They cracked jokes, mocked one another, and spoke in crude dialects that noblefolk resented. 

The air grew crisper, as the summer humidity was wrung out into dry cold. Fall was on their doorstep. Or maybe it was the nearing desert that ushered in the chill. Magic was her expertise. Geography was not. 

Yennefer sat on the ground as well, prickly wiregrass tormenting her behind through her robes. Although the mage preferred to travel alone, delighting little in the people of The Continent, she deemed it appropriate to join a traveling party. If she was caught alone on the pilgrimage, she’d surely be recognized by patrolling guards. The voyage south to Cintra was an arduous one; it was one which took about two weeks of walking or one on horseback. The witch, therefore, assumed the robes of common folk. Drab scraps of brown, gray, and off-white fabrics draped over her body, concealing her form entirely. Yennefer lamented her likeness to a pillowcase, but such were necessary measures. 

She had a scarf wrapped around her head and neck. It was green, an expensive fabric. It had been a gift from one of the merchantmen traveling with her. He was entertaining to her; his mundaneness amused her. Even so, she absolutely could not remember her plaything’s name. Something with an H, perhaps? Henri, Hagar, Harold? He was as lousy in bed as he was lacking in personality, so Yenn saw no reason to commit it to memory. 

The party consisted of 7 people and two mules. Pitre (an experienced salesman), Ramona (his wife), Pitre’s brother (H), and three other merchantmen (Bront, Antoni, and Edmund). The men were loud, drinking from flasks and laughing deep, bellowing guffaws.

The way that she had joined them was this: Yennefer had been spending time in a sleepy village North of her hometown of Vengerberg. It was a small trading outpost, only one tavern, market stalls, and a few houses. The maps know it at Yaggan. This hamlet, situated in a valley between two mountain peaks, was always covered in a layer of fog. It was thick fog; it hung over Yaggan like vapors above a boiling pot of stew. Tangentially, Yaggan was populated by agricultural folks. Those who stayed were farmers, mostly, taking advantage of the valley’s rich alluvial soil. The rest were migratory. They drifted in and out of Yaggan with exotic goods and tired mules and stories of distant lands to share with childhood friends. 

Yenn was an outsider here, no doubt. While shopping for food at the market, she encountered an old woman, Alicja. Alicja was a blind alchemist with no children. She took a liking to Yennefer, offering her a place to lay her head and eat. The old woman taught her basic practices and botany around the Yaggan valley, keeping Yennefer’s hands and mind busy. She enjoyed the work. The next few months were spent crafting common cures and salves for the hamlet’s sick and dying. 

As winter neared, Yaggan’s transitory population began to load their now-rested mules. They packed as many agricultural products as they could into large burlap sacks and flung them over the backs of their mules. Children were left with friends and family members. After the first party set out, the others followed in quick succession. 

It was before the final party left that Alicja urged Yenn to join them. 

“You’re young,” Alicja mused, in a gravelly rumble. “Go with them. The shop will wait for you.”

Yennefer had looked at her, and seen then not a frail old woman, but a wise mentor. Though the veins in her hands stuck out like branches from a tree, she was grounded. Yennefer knew that she couldn’t keep hiding, lurking in settlements on the margins of society. She had someone to find, and somewhere to be. Tissaia.

So she had hugged Alicja a warm good-bye, and approached the final party. Here she met Pitre and Ramona. She offered them a collection of various medicines in exchange for passage into Cintra, which was where they were headed. Pitre happily obliged, as medical salves were a rare and valuable commodity. 

She was here now, buttocks on the ground and eyes watching the fire, accompanied by a ragtag gang of crafty traders. They were children of Yaggan, and they knew each other by their parents’ crops. Bront and Edmund were cabbage boys, while Antoni boasted turnips. Pitre’s collective had cultivated potatoes. 

Their fireside banter was thus familiar and lighthearted. 

“Ain’t anyone ever told you,” Antoni howled in a thick Northern accent, one which was rough and intimidating “not to mess with drowners, Bront?”

Bront harrumphed, rolling his eyes from across the glowing belly of the fire. Its tendrils illuminated many scars on his scruffy face. One across his lips, pink and jagged. One across his right eye, which he covered with a cloth patch. “Ah. The leper accuses another leper of leprosy,” He rebutted. “Don’t pretend like we can’ see the fucker on your forearm.”

“Ah, this old thing?” The other held up his arm, showing off a forecep riddled with gnarled scar tissue. “Rite a’ passage. Those fishy cocksuckers always have heaps a’ treasure. Wares for business.” 

“Aye,” Bront smirked. “Business, brother.” There was an echo of rambunctious and cackling laughter from the party, but Yenn stayed silent. Her eyes rose and fell with the fire, fascinated by its creeping width. It lapped hungrily at its wood fodder, consuming the cedar log beneath it egregiously quickly. H had one more log at his side. After that one was burned, the party would sleep and rise with the sun. 

The wedded merchant, Pitre, took a long sip from his flask and eyed Yennefer. “Girl,” He called, flashing a smile that revealed missing teeth. “You ever seen a monster?”

“Hmm?” She responded, albeit absentmindedly. 

She didn’t realize, at first, that she had been spoken to. She was busy studying the ground, and the sky, and the smoke which drifted up from the fire. Their location was obvious to any bandits who might be roaming the area. But these merchants had been traveling from Yaggan to Cintra for many years. The knew the route and they knew its people. She would hate the receive magic advice from non-mages, so she bit her tongue.

“Monsters,” Pitre repeated, impatiently. He made a haughty huff, one which held such a low pitch that Yenn felt it shake the ground, a gentle earthquake. “Surely the alchemist knows something of monsters. Tell us a story.”

The others concurred, a chorus of “story!” following.

“Monsters, aye?” Yenn purred. “Funny enough, I’m speaking to one. You looked in a mirror lately, toothy?” 

The other men erupted in reeling laughter, which Yennifer enjoyed. “You’re one to laugh, pirate,” She called to Bront. “Nice eyepatch, by the way.” 

They continued to giggle. Pitre seemed especially satisfied. “Get Hagar next,” He beamed. 

Ah, Hagar. So that was his name. She’d forget it again, surely, but it had been on the tip of her tongue, which was most frustrating. 

“Hagar,” She quipped. “I’d say something of you, but even the most boring monster is more interesting than you. I’d much rather sleep with a Striga, I think.” 

The men, again, shouted and cheered. Ramona’s eyes burned holes into Yenn’s chest. When the din died down, she spoke.

“You’re no merchant. You’re not Yagganish. Why are you headed to Cintra?” 

The others turned their eyes to her, also curious. 

Yenn shifted in her position. She spent a lot of time in her head and hated being asked questions. When questions were being asked, she preferred to be the one in control. But she needed these people, albeit for a few more days. 

“I’m looking for someone.” This was a true statement. She had no reason to lie. However, she was looking for someone who was nearly impossible to find. Tissaia tended to be the “seeker.” She remained tucked away at Aretuza until she was required elsewhere. Of course, the simple solution would be to go straight to Aretuza. 

That would be too obvious, though. Yennefer wanted to be found. She wanted her mentor to miss her in the same longing way that Yenn yearned for her. She hoped Tiss’ interest would be piqued by Yenn’s entrance into Cintra, a kingdom with disdain and distrust for witches. It was risky. But for Tissaia? Worth every bit.

“A lover?” Bront cooed, nudging Hagar with a shoulder. Hagar pouted. 

Yennefer grunted. The prying was infuriating. Her life was far too complex for their small minds to understand. Life was more than eating, selling, and fucking, for god’s sake.

She played along.

“Yes.” The word rolled off her tongue far too quickly. It tasted sweet, but sent foreboding shivers down her spine. Her hands felt heavier, and as she eyed them, she noticed that her knuckles were turning white from the tight grip she was keeping in her balled fists. White, like the innermost tips of the fire. White, like the crests of the waves that licked Aretuza’s jagged cliffs. Was “lovers” what they were? Lovers, or just friends? Lovers, or just two people drifting apart as the years weathered them down? 

If she went back to Aretuza, she could be with Tiss. Help teach, or just help with research. More notable mages resented Yennefer, but Tissaia had always known she was gifted. Tissaia was the first person to find her worth anything. Ever.

“What’s ‘is name?” The men jeered. Antoni offered her a drink from his flask. Yennefer swallowed a mouthful, unaffected by the stinging aftertaste. 

“I don’t remember.” She said simply.

The men looked confused, but with what little sense they had, they knew to stop prodding. Hagar tossed the last log on to the fire, which had fallen to just a flicker of orange, nibbling on ashen morsels. 

“I am going to sleep,” Yennefer announced. The rest of her companions mumbled brief “goodnights,” but quickly returned to graphic discussions of carnal pleasures. Yenn was sorry for the women.


	2. Scourge of Men

Sleep was something that Yennefer struggled with lately. Especially when near her hometown of Vengerberg. When she shut her eyes, she found herself tormented by memories of the past. She saw herself back at the farm she was raised on, crumpled into her hunchbacked form. These were things she had hoped to suppress permanently, seeping through to her consciousness. 

She didn’t want to close her eyes. She didn’t want to think about who she used to be, or her roots. She turned on to her side. Yennefer was inside a tent by herself. The other travelers shared, but with her contribution to the merchants’ stash, they decided that she deserved her own space. It was by no means comfortable, however. Three feet above her head was the tent’s absolute peak. She sat on rocky foothill soil which was armed with aggressive wiregrass, only possessing merely a blanket as a barrier. After three days of this same routine, she was used to it. She’d admittedly gotten less sleep than optimal, but there was something comforting about settling down near the natural heat of the earth. 

She closed her eyes, and allowed an image of the large, familiar pig that belonged to her childhood home to appear. It stared at her, innocent, unknowing. Its eyes were swirling pools of black ichor and its skin looked somehow marbled. The pig’s chest rose and fell with its breath, soothing, somehow. Hesitantly, it approached her in a gentle trot. The creature’s gait was unnatural for a pig, she noted. Even more unnatural, though, was when its snout curled upwards to speak. Two words rattled out in Tissaia’s elegant timbre: “ _Hello, Piglet._ ”

Yennefer felt her heartbeat increase rapidly. The hog phased out of focus, like a town fades away when leaving it on horseback. It grew more distant on the horizon, even though Yenn desperately tried to recall it. The strange creature, with tar-eyes and stone-skin. 

“ _Piglet._ ” She heard it again, but this time it came from the heavens. Two puffy clouds separated, as if opening a mouth, to gurgle out the phrase. “ _Come back,_ ” The voice continued, but this time it was from the mouth of the Rectoress. Tissaia smirked warmly, charming smile lines engraved into the topography of her gently sloping face. Mountainsides of high cheekbones complemented the valley of her neatly pointed chin. Her hair, as Yenn remembered it, was pinned up into a bun. Tissaia’s brows were knotted between her two cautious eyes, examining her pupil. Her lips mouthed the words again, but this time releasing no sound: “ _Come back._ ” Come back where? Yenn tried to speak, tried to answer, but words could not escape from her mouth. She squirmed violently, clutching her chest, but not even an agonized scream could produce audio from her lips. 

The vision was ending, but Yenn kept struggling. She continued to contort and stretch her chest in any way that she could, desperately wanting to acknowledge Tissaia. And to ask more questions. What did come back mean? Come back where? Was this an unsettling dream, or a proper vision?

The ephemeral bit of sleep she had left as quickly as it had come. Estranged from the momentary reunion, Yennefer sprawled out her limbs in the tiny tent. 

But the earth, she noticed at that moment, was vibrating. It was soft, rhythmic drumming, like hard heeled shoes on a wooden floor, or marching soldiers. No, it sort of sounded like thunder. Maybe the sky was coughing up a summer shower. That would be just great for travel, she thought facetiously. 

The rumbling didn’t stop like thunder did, though. It continued, even after a few minutes. It seemed to grow marginally louder, too. She sat up, opening her eyes now. Something wasn’t right. The air was too stiff, too still, and the night was too quiet. 

Yennefer pulled herself up to her knees, which was all she could manage in this cramped tent. It didn’t sound like her traveling party was awake. With a wary hand, she nudged the tent’s opening flaps aside. The night air greeted her, much colder than it was just a few hours ago. She wrapped her blanket around herself, and rose to her feet. 

As her bare feet touched the coarse soil below, she turned around. She squinted at the plain, examining the flat earth in the moonlight. The thumping continued, and she searched for it, trying to find a source. It was a cloudless night; it couldn’t possibly be thunder.

But then she saw something. Three, red-orange lights pierced the cool blue night. They created harshly contrasting lines across the shrouded plain sky. Torches. And as she looked closer, she made out the three horsemen they belonged to. 

The horsemen circled their meager camp, galloping around the perimeter. They were hawks, scouting prey before indulging in a meal. Like hawks, they cried out to one another, shouting unintelligible commands back and forth. Before Yenn could react, one of the mysterious riders broke formation and began charging the camp. His steed picked up velocity, its massive hooves pounding the ground in dreadful drumming. 

Bandits. They had to be. Like she predicted. Under different circumstances, she’d gloat about being right. 

“ _Get up!_ ” She shouted, hoping her colleagues were light sleepers. “We are being attacked!” 

As she finished her statement, the first horsemen swung his torch at her empty tent. It caught fire immediately, sending the alarming odor of charred wool into the atmosphere. The horseman cackled, and the mules bucked in fear, wriggling to free themselves of their posts. Yennefer would have freed them, but she needed them for travel. 

Bront and Edmund were the first to leave their tent. The fire lit up their faces in gruesome red. Edmund hastily headed towards one of the mules, freeing a steel greatsword from one of the satchels. He tossed a sickle towards Bront, which he happily equipped. 

“What-” Edmund started, interrupted by the charging horseman returning for more arson. He held his torch to the side, preparing to swipe at Pitre and Ramona’s occupied tent. Before he could land the strike, Yennefer intercepted with a bolt of magick. Her panic and anger had caused morsels of rage to spark from her fingertips. Her weapon was chaos, and as external chaos increased, she had welded and folded and shaped the energy into one neat bolt. It created a loud pop, a crackling shockwave that illuminated even more shock and horror on the brothers’ faces. 

The energy pierced the horseman’s hand, causing him to drop the torch. The weapon fell to the ground in what felt like slow motion, immediately catching fire to the dry grass below. The hungry flames bit ravenously at the horse’s ankles, causing the great brown beast to buck its rider off. It fled, panicked, pushing past Bront and Edmund, who were moving in on the dismounted brigand. Awoken by the commotion, Pitre, with Ramona at his side, exited their tent as the blaze spread, nipping at the flammable wool. 

Yennefer had not seen Hagar or Antoni, she realized. But she noticed them then. They had snuck out of their tent and were hurriedly freeing a mule. Hagar was standing before it, trying to saw through its binding rope with a pocket dagger. Antoni was petting the mule’s long nose, attempting to calm it. 

“Fools!” Yenn hissed. “What are you-” She was interrupted by the cool sensation of blood coating her ankles and soaking the tips of her blanket and her peasant robes. Edmund, with his greatsword, had cleaved the fallen rider’s head clean off his torso. The head rolled a few feet before abruptly stopping at Yennefer’s bare feet. Before she could comprehend what had just happened, Bront’s wild battle cry pierced the night.

Sickle raised high above his head, he roared. “Fucking bandits!” The young man sprinted as fast as he could towards the other two horsemen, who were still circling the camp with torches. What idiot ran, alone, towards two horsemen? 

Edmund, satisfied with his work, was now helping Pitre and Ramona with wrestling Hagar and Antoni off one of their mules. This meant that the battle was left to Yennefer and Bront, gods help him.

The next horseman left the formation, charging straight for Bront, who had stopped dead in his tracks, bracing for combat. He swung his sickle menacingly, taunting the rider with crude insults. “I already lost my best eye,” He howled. “Ain’t much else you can do to me.” 

The bandit, wordlessly, drew a steel sword from his side. It glinted in the moonlight, reflecting a pearly white glow as well as the orange blaze of spreading flames. The rider swung his sword at Bront, who parried. He caught the sword in his sickle and pulled the rider off his mount. 

Yennefer readied another attack, harnessing chaos from the roaring flames. She felt the power in her palms, and then felt it radiate throughout her core. It rattled her spine and pricked her skin. As soon as the bolt had formed, she flung it towards Bront and the dismounted horseman. Beneath them, the earth popped and cracked before the magnitude of her attack consumed them. Red-hot energy shot up in geysers around them, engulfing them completely. When the smoke cleared, all that remained at the scene was two charred corpses and a dead horse. 

Hagar, Edmund, Pitre, Antoni, and Ramona turned to her in horror. Edmund heaved his blade into an attacking position and bared his teeth at her. “Damned witch!” He thundered. “That’s all you are, ye useless bitch.” He swung carelessly at her, but Yenn sidestepped his attack easily. As Edmund continued badgering her, in her periphery, she noticed the third horseman charging towards the encampment. 

The flames from the discarded torch had now dramatically consumed all of the tents and were creeping towards the mules, who were groaning ghoulishly. The red light illuminated obvious panic in their black, voidish eyes. Hagar was still desperately sawing at the rope that bound one of them to a post, but one of the creature’s wild kicks planted into his exposed chest. He fell to the ground, wheezing, while his blade tumbled to his side. Surely, some of his ribs were broken.

“Fight me, witch!” Edmund demanded, his teeth gnashing bestially. “Scourge of men! Murderer of my kin! What curse has brought you upon us?” He swung his greatsword again, but as he raised his blade, the horseman swiped at his back. It tore through his cloth shirt, allowing his blood to spill out onto the dry earth, which hungrily absorbed the liquid. With a backdrop of fire, the Yagganish boy screamed in agony. 

“This,” He panted, on the ground, “Is all your fault.” 

Yennefer could not afford to waste any more time with Edmund, who was now bleeding excessively. She needed to take care of the last brigand on horseback before he slaughtered her whole party. He made a reappearance conveniently, now galloping straight towards the mules. Pitre and Antoni tried to shield Ramona, but unarmed, they could do very little. The bandit readied his blade.

Yenn knew that she had to intervene somehow. She needed to create just enough of a blast to take care of the last horseman without hurting the three standing companions and the unconscious Hagar. She could feel her heartbeat coursing through her fingertips. She shut her eyes to focus. 

The image of Tissaia from her dream appeared. Her smile was warm, and her eyes looked as if they knew something that Yennefer didn’t. “ _Come back, Piglet._ ”

Yennefer screamed in response, unleashing a blast of much greater size than she intended. Her eyes widened as the bolt charged towards her remaining companions. What had she done, the fool? She was still unable to control her power, even years after leaving Aretuza. 

A whimper wavered on her lips as she desperately called, “ _Move!_ ” 

Pitre, Antoni, Ramona, and the rider all looked at her as they were consumed by flames. The blast started at their feet, but grappled up their bodies, singing their hair next. The horse and his mule cousins, as well as all of the wares for trade, disintegrated, and Yenn fell to her knees. 

The sun was beginning to rise on the furthest horizon, shedding the first rays of sunlight on to the gruesome stage. Tears dropped from the mage’s eyes on to the dry, burnt, and bloody soil, forming mud. Her fingertips were submerged in the ground, grabbing desperately at whatever they could. 

Taking a life was all she was capable of. How could she be a renowned mage if she was still just as lacking in finesse as any old novice? 

What’s worse, is that she could still see Tissaia’s face jubilantly watching her, as if akin to the sun. Yennefer wept in this position as the sun rose, the fire died, and the smoke cleared.

The dismembered bandit head still sat at her side, watching her mourn. His final expression had been raw, primal fear. 

But alas, despite the gore, at least she no longer had to put up with commoners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .....Hope no one got too attached to these characters :P
> 
> In all seriousness, thank you everyone for reading! I decided to release the next chapter today to keep you guys engaged. Hope you like ~drama~


	3. Liminal Spaces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends! I'm going to try to post updates weekly on Mondays, but no promises! I hope you enjoy.

“How far are we, now?” 

“1 hour. Give or take,” The driver answered, but she was annoyed. She was tired of answering the same question with the same answer for the past six hours and for the past 2 days before that. She was continually surprised by just how little rich folks understood distance, them being the only ones who could afford to travel frequently, at least by leisure. 

Tissaia was equally as peeved, but for different reasons. They told her that on business trips, now, she had to travel in a carriage. “A teleporting woman is quite scary to a young girl,” They said. “Maybe dial down the intensity?,” They said. Well, what a load of horseshit. Literally. The woman despised carriages and the dreadful beasts that pulled them. This archaic means of travel took far too long and exhausted far too many hours. 

The thing about roads was, they were all the same. There was always bumpy gravel, massive holes which tormented unsuspecting wheels in addition to her unsuspecting stomach. Thick, oppressive woods that produced unearthly sounds were also fairly common on these voyages. From this road, she thought, you could have spun her around three times and told her she was anywhere, and she’d have believed it. 

She wasn’t one for breaking rules, though. Rules offered security and stability where chaos threatened them. Every government dissolution, every arrest, every societal problem was caused by rule breakers. Tissaia had only known one person who could pursue pure chaos somewhat successfully, but it had been a long time, and the sorceress did not know what had become of her. Many of her apprentices never reconnected with the rectoress. It had been five years since her prized pupil, Yennefer, had spoken to her. Perhaps that was for the best.

The only part of these long journeys that she enjoyed was the deer. She’d frequently see the meek creatures from carriage windows and quite enjoyed them. They were regal animals, often speckled and tall. They tended to appear near dawn or dusk, separating from the dense thicket to investigate its exterior. There was something about a deer’s eyes. She couldn’t explain it, really. They were round, dark, afraid, and surveilling black pools of tar, but somehow magnetizing. Her peers often referenced an old proverb: “Eyes are the window to the soul.” 

It was only a few days journey north from the unwelcoming town of Vengerberg to the place she’d been summoned. An old friend, a gifted alchemist, had sent her a letter. It detailed an apprentice of hers with alleged “magical potential.” Though, Tissaia wasn’t sure what that meant these days.

Aretuza was filled with girls who had this so-called “magical potential.” That is to say, girls whose parents had paid a pretty penny for entrance into the prestigious school. It used to not be that way. The wealthy had sort of a noblesse oblige to feed the tradition of magical arts. 

She used to track magical anomalies, those being locations where a large and unaccounted for amounts of power were surging. These outbursts were connected to those who had potential to be crafted into brilliant mages.

Yennefer of Vengerberg. Tissaia couldn’t help but think of her again, so close to the girl’s hometown. Now, there was a truly gifted sorceress. Tissaia had never seen such power (which, she shared at least a portion of the credit in refining). She thrived on chaos.

Tissaia did the opposite. But the friction between them intrigued her, dangerously so. 

“How much further, driver?” Tissaia called out anxiously.

“Look out the window,” The driver barked back. “You can see Yaggan. And you know, I have a name.” 

“Yes,” The rectoress replied distractedly. “I’m sure you do.”

Yaggan was hardly a city. It was preceded and proceeded by massive expanses of farmland. It was tucked neatly in the crest of two mountains, whose great backs were riddled with residual clouds. She could see fog dripping down into the town like water, pooling over the vast fields. In the actual town cluster, there were a number of buildings she could count on one hand. Most lived in farmhouses.

It did feel quite magical, from a distance. But it was oddly quiet. It seemed almost like a ghost town, as her carriage drew nearer.

Did anyone actually live in this settlement, pray tell?

After a few moments, the carriage grew to a halt near the town’s gate. It had a perimeter defined by a wooden fence and a steep wooden gate, propped open in waiting. 

“Your stop, miss,” The carriage driver uttered in a deadpan voice. She was exhausted. She would probably spend the night here, but she’d rather anything over Tissaia finding that out.

Tissaia grabbed her handbag and descended from the compartment. She tossed her fare and a steep tip towards the driver, which seemed to satisfy her. Then, the sorceress entered the settlement. 

It was easy to find the alchemist’s shop, as it was the only labelled building in town besides the tavern. And of course, the old woman was sitting on the porch.

“Alecja!” The mage called as she approached. “You look dreadful!”

“And you, the same as always,” the alchemist replied. The two laughed for a moment before entering the store.

It was much larger inside than it appeared to be outside. High bookshelves lined its walls and racks of labelled medicines zigzagged throughout the cluttered interior. Herbs were hung, drying, from the walls and ceilings. Artifacts were scattered in with the dusty tomes, all of them intriguing. Tissaia could have spent days here. 

“Tiss,” She grinned. “Feel free to look around. I’m going to make some tea.” 

The old alchemist walked through an ornate oak door towards the back of the front room. Tissaia immediately started scanning the shelves, thumbing through books. Alchemy was fascinating. It was a smaller subsect of the magical arts, often underrated. Sometimes alchemists were more effective than mages. Nature had potential to be more powerful than magic. There was a language barrier, though. An alchemist’s job was to translate the tongue of the plants, documenting their arcana in books like these.

It was fascinating. If Tissaia had time, she’d study them herself. 

Meanwhile, however, her gaze was drawn to an adjacent shelf. Atop two horizontal books sat some sort of icon. Two deer-eyes, dark and swirling, stared down at her. It was a mule statue, smooth and carved of marble. It unsettled Tissaia. When the two made eye contact, her stomach turned. She reached to touch it, but her hairs bristled in response. Tissaia stepped back as Alicja re-entered the room. 

“What,” The sorceress gestured, “Is that?” 

Alecja looked confused. “Tea?” 

“The marble donkey,” Tissaia corrected, pointing again.

“Ah,” The alchemist set down her tea set and stepped towards the sorceress, retrieving the item, unaffected. She handed it to Tissaia gingerly. “It’s a compass.”

“A compass?”

“Not a mechanical kind. It’s enchanted.” 

“Is it, now?”

“So,” She tapped the surface of the marble, producing a high-pitched sound. Tissaia winced. “You’re looking for someone.”

“I don’t believe that’s true.”

“The compass,” Alecja raised an eyebrow at Tissaia, “only reacts to those who need to find something.”

Tissaia scoffed. “What on earth do you mean by that?”

“Your heart craves a presence,” The old alchemist said slowly. “Artifacts don’t lie.” 

“Hmm,” She groaned. “My heart, eh? Oh, come on.” 

Tissaia wasn’t buying it. Her face looked red, embarrassed and irritated by this child's play. Alecja continued to insist on the accuracy of her mule statuette. 

“Someone is looking for you, too.”

“Yes,” Tissaia snapped. “Your apprentice. That’s what I’m here for, old woman.” 

Alecja sighed. “You see, I didn’t know when you’d arrive. You’re awfully overbooked lately. Not the most reliable with dates, either. I allowed Yennefer to leave. You see, she’s of marrying age, and in Yaggan--”

All of the pigment had left Tissaia’s skin.

“Your apprentice,” The rectoress gulped. “Describe her.”

“Hmm,” Alecja pondered. “Awfully dark hair, quick and witty. Rather an attractive young thing…” 

It couldn’t be. Tissaia looked at the statuette, running her thumb gently along the smooth marble. She mouthed, inaudibly, one word which had not left her teeth for many years: “Piglet…”

“This compass,” She exhaled. “What does it do?” 

Alecja shrugged. “I’ve never used it.” 

“But what do the books say it does?”

“Well,” The alchemist began, “It connects people. Many warriors use them to connect themselves to their brothers. Once connected, it’s like a focus.”

“Allegedly,” Tissaia interjected. 

“Allegedly,” Alecja confirmed. “But I have no proof otherwise. Warriors would use them to find their companions, free them from danger. There are several accounts of success.” 

“I’m not a warrior.” 

“I’m aware.” 

“So how am I connected to someone?”

“Come on, Tissaia,” Alecja grunted. “I’m not your damned therapist. I’ve told you all I know.”

The sorceress pouted and then sat down at the table, defeated, to fix a cup of tea. “Sorry for the questions.” 

“If you didn’t ask questions,” Her old friend replied, “you’d be a very bad teacher.”

Tissaia ran a thumb along the mule’s spine, one more time. The compass. That’s what it was. She wasn’t sure if she believed it yet. 

Somehow, she was connected to Yennefer of Vengerberg.

...Who was also Alecja’s apprentice. The details in between were cloudy.

Something was _happening_ , and the sorceress had a good sense of when things like these were important. This felt important. There were no words to describe it.

‘ _Where are you, Piglet,_ ' She thought to herself, fiddling with the object. ‘ _Come back._ ’


End file.
